Just write
No, this is not about the Baby Bear's porridge. If you recall, Papa's was too hot. Mama's was too cold. And Baby Bear's was 'just right.' Goldilocks, being an arrogant, spoiled brat, simply took what she wanted and didn't care about the consequences. She received far less kicking around than she deserved. Her's was a blond-centric universe.
Just write.
To some extent, each of us live in an ego-centric world different from Goldilocks only in degree. And who else but a writer could be most accurately described as ego-centric? We live to inflict our world views on others and can only imagine the accolades our superior intellect will bring - once the world notices, that is.
Just write.
I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally I'm at low ebb. I'm loathe to leave my chair in the evening and I fall asleep easily. It's difficult to concentrate. Finding ideas for posts is likewise hard and finding comedy even harder.
Just write.
So I'm reading various writer's resource blogs and websites, trying to get past these doldrums and onto something more productive. Sure, I've been here before and I've written about it. And I'll likely be here again, becalmed on a sea of apparent futility, oppressed on all sides by depression, sleepiness, and a nagging fear that the ideas will never come.
Just write.
It feels like I'm hanging on by my fingernails, trying to get through the next two weeks in order to reach that blessed sanctuary of vacation through the holidays. Two weeks from now I'll be done for the year. I won't return to work until January 4th. In the meantime, however, my employer wants all our units off the shelves in order to minimize flight delays and cancellations over the holidays.
Just write.
One of the writer's blogs urges us to 'just write' everyday, regardless of how we feel or how the world is turning. "Just sit down, turn off the distractions, and write. Write something - anything - and the ideas will flow by themselves." Apparently, sitting here putting words to (virtual) paper is conducive to fighting one's way out of the doldrums. Maybe it works, maybe not, but expect to see some similar stream-of-consciousness stuff from time to time.
Just write.
Wally is lurking around here somewhere. He needs a new bike after Bill Howard ran over his old Peugeot outside Larry's Cafe one night. I suppose we'll have to go bike shopping - a prospect that fills me with dread.
Just write.
As John Houseman said in The Paper Chase, "You have a mind full of mush!" That's a good summary of how mine feels right now. The admonition to "just write" may be a useful tool in shoveling that mush out of the way. It's an exercise in self-discipline.
Just write.
For that matter, I can understand the appeal of trying shortcuts like alcohol or amphetamines. In my case, booze is not that enticing because a couple of shots would leave me snoring atop any convenient horizontal object, but uppers offer that illusory appeal of wakefulness and energy, at least in the short term. Don't worry. I'm not about to turn into a pill popping fiend. I've seen the results on some people who were close to me. Ain't gonna go there.
Just write.
Wally and I stood there looking at the wreckage of his bike when Fred and Ethel frog-marched Bill Howard out of the bar. Bill was wearing handcuffs. They put him in the back of the patrol car as we gawked. Then they came over to us. I thought they wanted to talk about the damages, but instead, they had us assume the position. We were quickly frisked and cuffed, joining Bill in the back of the car. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to jail we go....
They arrested me and threw me in jail,
I called my sweetie to go my bail...
Bill had never been arrested and he was terrified. Fear made him babble, and Wally quickly took note. As he was no stranger to jail cells, and in fact was a kind of connoisseur of most of the region's lockups, he began fueling Bill's terrors with lurid stories of mayhem, violence, rape, and sodomy, some of which I recognized from those low-budget 'women in prison' movies.
Just write.
To some extent, each of us live in an ego-centric world different from Goldilocks only in degree. And who else but a writer could be most accurately described as ego-centric? We live to inflict our world views on others and can only imagine the accolades our superior intellect will bring - once the world notices, that is.
Just write.
I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally I'm at low ebb. I'm loathe to leave my chair in the evening and I fall asleep easily. It's difficult to concentrate. Finding ideas for posts is likewise hard and finding comedy even harder.
Just write.
So I'm reading various writer's resource blogs and websites, trying to get past these doldrums and onto something more productive. Sure, I've been here before and I've written about it. And I'll likely be here again, becalmed on a sea of apparent futility, oppressed on all sides by depression, sleepiness, and a nagging fear that the ideas will never come.
Just write.
It feels like I'm hanging on by my fingernails, trying to get through the next two weeks in order to reach that blessed sanctuary of vacation through the holidays. Two weeks from now I'll be done for the year. I won't return to work until January 4th. In the meantime, however, my employer wants all our units off the shelves in order to minimize flight delays and cancellations over the holidays.
Just write.
One of the writer's blogs urges us to 'just write' everyday, regardless of how we feel or how the world is turning. "Just sit down, turn off the distractions, and write. Write something - anything - and the ideas will flow by themselves." Apparently, sitting here putting words to (virtual) paper is conducive to fighting one's way out of the doldrums. Maybe it works, maybe not, but expect to see some similar stream-of-consciousness stuff from time to time.
Just write.
Wally is lurking around here somewhere. He needs a new bike after Bill Howard ran over his old Peugeot outside Larry's Cafe one night. I suppose we'll have to go bike shopping - a prospect that fills me with dread.
Just write.
As John Houseman said in The Paper Chase, "You have a mind full of mush!" That's a good summary of how mine feels right now. The admonition to "just write" may be a useful tool in shoveling that mush out of the way. It's an exercise in self-discipline.
Just write.
For that matter, I can understand the appeal of trying shortcuts like alcohol or amphetamines. In my case, booze is not that enticing because a couple of shots would leave me snoring atop any convenient horizontal object, but uppers offer that illusory appeal of wakefulness and energy, at least in the short term. Don't worry. I'm not about to turn into a pill popping fiend. I've seen the results on some people who were close to me. Ain't gonna go there.
Just write.
Wally and I stood there looking at the wreckage of his bike when Fred and Ethel frog-marched Bill Howard out of the bar. Bill was wearing handcuffs. They put him in the back of the patrol car as we gawked. Then they came over to us. I thought they wanted to talk about the damages, but instead, they had us assume the position. We were quickly frisked and cuffed, joining Bill in the back of the car. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to jail we go....
They arrested me and threw me in jail,
I called my sweetie to go my bail...
Bill had never been arrested and he was terrified. Fear made him babble, and Wally quickly took note. As he was no stranger to jail cells, and in fact was a kind of connoisseur of most of the region's lockups, he began fueling Bill's terrors with lurid stories of mayhem, violence, rape, and sodomy, some of which I recognized from those low-budget 'women in prison' movies.
posted by Ed W at 4:51 PM
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